Hetalia Snapshots
by Loona Rosamunde
Summary: Random drabbles ranging from comedy to pure angst and starring characters from Hetalia. Various romantic and friendship pairings and relationships will be explored. Truths will be revealed, love will be lost and found, and adventures will begin.
1. The Calendar

Word count: 269

Pairings: FrUK

Warnings: Character death

* * *

The Calendar

Canada cried. Seychelles had been reduced to shaking sobs. Even America, the self-proclaimed hero who claimed he could handle anything, was tearful. So many of them stood gathered around the hole in the ground, in the middle of a field that only a certain green-eyed man knew was significant. A coffin was lowered. Beautiful roses were etched into the dark wood. As dirt was filled, the crowd dispersed, leaving England alone at the fresh grave. He stared at the headstone, anger and hatred flashing in his eyes, right alongside emotions he refused to admit.

"Damn frog," he whispered. "You have a lot of bloody nerve leaving me here like this."

The angered nation thought back to their last meeting, his heart twisting at the thought that he'd been the last to see the Frenchman alive. It hadn't ended well, to be honest the Englishman was more shocked than angered at his lover's request. Their relationship had never run smooth. They had a history of wars and breakups, of alliances and passionate nights. But England assumed that was how it would always be, lovers one day and enemies the next. Marriage just wouldn't work between them.

The thought made England panic. He thought his old friend was joking. He hadn't realized how dire the circumstances were. But now it was too late. All England could do was lay a bouquet of roses at the base of a gravestone. As he stood alone the anger and hatred melted away, revealing the love Arthur could never show while France was alive.

"I'll sign your damn calendar. Just come back, Francis. _Je t'aime._"


	2. America's Jacket

Word Count: 498

Pairings: None

Warnings: Trigger warning for self-harm

* * *

America's Jacket

The heat was unbearable. Not a single nation would deny that fact. Many of the men had shed their suit jackets and ties, and the female personifications had rolled up their sleeves in order to withstand the oven-like room. Even Russia had removed his long coat and loosened his scarf. The only nation who hadn't even begun to strip down was America, who sat sweating in his signature bomber jacket over the suit he'd been required to wear.

As most conferences this meeting had started off as usual. Chaotic conversations and even a few physical altercations, the most serious being England punching a flirtatious France, had been calmed by Germany who now stood up front trying to silence a whining Italy. It had been just after the lunch break when everyone returned and noticed the heat in the room. Germany had called the front desk, only to find the AC had gone out and maintenance was working on fixing the problem. So the meeting continued, much to the dismay of the uncomfortable nations.

"Bloody git, you're going to die of heatstroke if you don't take that damn thing off," England hissed at his former colony.

America flashed him a cocky grin. "Dude, heroes don't get heatstroke! This is my favorite jacket, no way it's coming off!"

England rolled his eyes. "I didn't raise you to be such an idiot but if you want to die of heat exhaustion that's fine with me. The world could use the silence."

America cringed, an action not caught by his former brother. He shrugged the comment off with a laugh. "Yeah, whatever, dude."

Slouching in his seat and tugging the sleeves of his jacket down, America spent the last miserable hour of the meeting paying more attention to random lines on his notepad. He was out of the building before Germany could finish adjourning the meeting.

By the time he got to the hotel, America knew the dampness on his arm was not just from sweating in the heat of the room. He slammed the door, flipping the deadbolt into place as he tore off his jacket. America stepped into the bathroom, carefully pulling the red-stained dress shirt off and tossing it on the floor. He would deal with it later, he'd packed several others just in case.

Slowly and gently he unwrapped the soaked bandages from his arms, dropping them into the trash. The first aid kit sat ready on the sink as America began sopping up the blood, grimacing at the pain the torn open battle wounds caused him. He stared at the lines covering his arms, various shades of pinks and white, the newer much darker hues of red. His mind drifted back to England's earlier words. The insults and hatred took over his mind and his hand drifted to the blade kept near the first aid box. Another battle wound was made.

_Nobody knows_, America thought, his eyes traveling to the well-known bomber jacket. _And nobody ever will._


	3. I Won't Say I'm in Love

Word Count: 400

Pairings: AmeBel

Warnings: None

* * *

I Won't Say I'm in Love

Belarus had always been easily frustrated, but nothing in her life compared to the annoyance she felt when around the self-professed hero, America. He was nothing like her beloved brother. He was loud, obnoxious, spoke without thinking, got excited over everything, had the stupidest plans, and there was nothing she hated more than his idiot grin. He wasn't even cute, though many of the female nations, and some of the males disagreed with her on that. His hair was too bright, not light like Ivan's. His eyes were too blue, she got lost in them too often for her liking. His skin was too tan, and while he was tall it was just not enough to compare to her brother.

So she was perfectly fine when a random South American nation waltzed up to him after the meeting, batting her eyes and giving him a seductive smile that would have given France a run for his money. Natalya was perfectly fine when the nation asked Alfred on a date. She did not feel a longing to jump for joy when she overheard him turn her down. And her hopes certainly did not fall again when he said he was only turning her down because his heart was set on someone else.

No, Natalya hated him with a burning passion that she could not even begin to put into words. He meant nothing to her, no matter how helpful he had been after she became her own country independent of Ivan. No matter how much her heart sped up when he smiled at her. No matter how many times she sighed or swooned, she would deny feeling anything but contempt for the idiotic capitalist.

Beside her, Ukraine smiled, knowingly following the younger girl's line of sight. "Sestra, why don't you go say hello to Amerika?"

Glaring at her sister, Belarus abruptly turned toward the door. "There's no reason to. I have to go. Goodbye, Katyusha."

The Belarusian wandered outside, sitting on a bench beneath a blossoming tree as she waited for her siblings to join her. Her aggravation returned when she saw America leave the building, talking to her brother of all people. When the American turned in her direction she stubbornly turned away.

She hated the sloppy American. Never in a million years would she ever love him.

Or, at least she would never to such things admit out loud.


	4. Surrender

Word count: 288

Pairings: None

Warnings: non-canon character death

* * *

Surrender

_The two young men stared each other down, each in the uniform of the nations they represented. The man in blue stood tall, his expression fierce as he stared down his opponent, a boy who was no more than a child even compared to the man in blue._

_The gray soldier smirked. "You no longer rule over me, America! Your laws and morals will not apply to me any longer. And here everyone thought you would be so great."_

_America's grip tightened on his rifle and charged toward his counterpart. His opponent raised his own rifle and America knocked it from his hands. The gun flew a short distance away, landing in the grass as the confederate's army prepared to fire. America aimed his gun, hesitating slightly as he had seen someone do many years before. Remembering his obligations he pulled the trigger._

_The shot echoed in the summer air. A body crumpled to the ground. America clenched at his chest as he felt himself be torn apart once more. He fell to his knees, mourning the loss of one he had so recently considered a brother. His strength was returning, but it was instantly crushed with staggering guilt._

_The Confederate States of America was no more. The Union had won. _

_America was once again whole._

In a small apartment, Alfred bolted awake. Shaking hands combed through wet hair as he tried to forget the empty blue eyes of the small boy. He threw the covers away from him and got up to walk to the window, a piece of gray fabric clenched in his hand. He leaned against the window, staring at his capital city below.

_I'm sorry, Conrad. But this is how it had to be._


	5. The Dance

Word Count: 208

Pairing: AusHun intended

Warnings: ...feels?

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The Dance

They danced. The entire house was silent. Their servants were all gone, and they had no guests to attend to. There was no paperwork left for the day. No important national matters to attend to. So they danced.

No music played. The room was filled with silence and the soft tapping of feet against the wooden floors. Rain pattered against the window but the brewing storm was lost to the lovers.

He held her tightly in a way that he never had before, threatening to never let go. He led her strongly, but she could sense just the slightest uncertainty in his steps. He never wanted the dance to end.

She stared up at him, allowing him to guide her across the room in a slow waltz that they knew all too well. She allowed him to take his part as the lead, but he could feel her pull ever so slightly as if preparing for what was to come. But she never wanted the dance to end.

Tomorrow their marriage would officially come to its end. The papers would be signed and both would go their separate ways. But for just one more night they belonged only to each other.

The lovers moved in their final dance.


	6. The Rabbit

Word Count: 499

Pairings: FrUK

Warnings: Poor attempt at humor

_For Grimmie, 'cause you deserve a laugh._

* * *

The Rabbit

"_Mon lapin!_" Francis sang as he entered his old friend's home.

The Frenchman was met with silence, something he was already used to. However, this was different. Typically when he visited without calling ahead he would be greeted with a huff or the shuffling of feet as England struggled to hide before being found. Instead, the entirety of the home was nothing absolute silence.

"Arzur?!" he called, wandering from room to room.

Searching the house up and down, Francis was just about to leave when he recalled one room that he had not yet entered. The one room he was never supposed to enter, though he did anyway once in a while to steal Arthur's spell books.

France entered the dimly lit room. _"Angleterre?_ Are you in 'ere?"

Once more the Frenchman found his friend was nowhere in sight. His lips fell into a frown as he gazed around the room, considering with messing with the order of potion ingredients or hiding some of the spell books again, though neither action had ever turned out well for the frog in the past. He was just about to leave when he saw it: the rabbit.

Typically, Francis wouldn't have thought twice about the creature. However, said rabbit looked up at him and tilted its head as if demanding to know why he dared to enter the room uninvited. Upon closer examination, it was sitting on a pile of England's "wizarding robes".

"_Mon lapin_! What 'ave you done zis time?!" France demanded, scooping the animal up. "I 'ave told you time and time again not to practice zis dark magic! And you never listen to me! 'ow long will zis last? It will wear off soon, oui?"

The rabbit twitched its nose.

"Oh,_ mon ami_! I cannot let you stay like zis! Certainly zere is somezing? Per'aps your brozers would know what to do? Non…zey are idiots…more so zan you!" France clutched the creature to his chest. "'ow could you do such a zing to yourself? What kind of life would you live as a rabbit?"

"Francis?"

"You can speak?!" France held the rabbit at a distance, watching as it twitched its nose at him.

"Turn around you git," England snapped. "And put that thing down before you suffocate it!"

Jumping slightly, France whirled around, his face instantly brightening. "_Mon lapin_! You are not _un lapin_!"

Quickly setting the rabbit down, France ran over to him.

"Why on earth would I be a rabbit?" England demanded, rolling his eyes.

"You and zat stupid magic make mistakes all the time!"

England shoved him away. "Get out."

"But, _mon lapin_!"

"Out! Before I turn you into a frog again!"

Pouting the Frenchman tossed his hair and stormed out, muttering about the rudeness of barbaric Englishmen. England closed the door and walked over to the rabbit. He leaned on the table, staring into its eyes.

"Well, America, I suppose I should turn you back into a human now. Before the damn frog comes back."


	7. Betrayal

Word Count: 336

Pairings: Freanne; FrUK

Warnings: Character death

Companion to: Jealousy, Forgiveness

* * *

Betrayal

Even as a nation he was nowhere near safe from exhaustion. Francis' lungs screamed for air and his heart raced as he ran through the English streets. From blocks away he had seen the smoke, but he pressed on as if he could still save her.

A crowd gathered in the town square to watch the spectacle. The pride of France being executed like a common criminal. Francis was truly ashamed. He had abandoned her in her time of need, and now it would be too late.

The young woman coughed, smoke from the flames denying her of the air she so badly needed. She looked up towards the sky, her lips moving in a silent prayer for her own redemption. As her head lowered, eyes locked on those of her only love.

Unable to stand the sight any longer, Francis lunged into the crowd, trying to fight his way to the pyre. The crowd moved against him, as if everyone was only there to stop him from saving her. He shouted her name over and over, hoping that she knew exactly why he was there. Hoping that she would hold on just long enough for him to reach her.

But he was already too late.

A tight grip closed around his arms, locking him in place.

"I did what I could, but they wouldn't listen to me! It's too late, frog!"

Shaking his head in defiance the Frenchman struggled against his enemy's hold. "_Non_! I won't let you take 'er from me!"

"It's too late, Francis!" England's arms wrapped around the man as he fell to his knees. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…"

The two went unnoticed by the humans around them. Even as night fell and they were all alone they stayed just as they were. It wasn't until the sky began to lighten again that Francis pushed him away. He turned to Arthur and just stared at him, tearful eyes filled with nothing more than absolute betrayal.

Without a single word, Francis walked away.


	8. Jealousy

Word Count: 407

Pairing: Freanne, one-sided FrUK

Warnings: Character death

Companion to: Betrayal, Forgiveness

* * *

Jealousy

It hadn't been entirely out of jealousy. It was true that the young woman was innocent, and clearly a woman of God. But Arthur just couldn't let her live.

She was a threat to his country, at least that was what he tried to convince himself. That was the reason he gave for condemning her. And that was the reason that helped him sleep at night. How else could he explain to Francis that his most valuable soldier was going to die?

But when the day came, Arthur knew that he had made a mistake. He waited near the king, his eyes seeking out a single individual in the crowd of people that had come to witness the death of the heroine of France. The blond head soon appeared at the edge of the crowd, and England left his boss' side to seek out his old friend.

When he reached him, the Frenchman was panicked. Unable to do anything else, England grabbed him, if for no other reason than to stop the fool from throwing himself into the flames as well.

"I did what I could," he lied, "but they wouldn't listen to me! It's too late, frog!"

Arthur's heart ached at the desperation in Francis' voice. "_Non_! I won't let you take 'er from me!"

France's legs caved in and England felt him falling. He caught the nation quick enough to safely lower him to the ground. "It's too late, Francis! I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…"

England held the broken man close. He truly didn't want to see him in pain. He just wanted the Frenchman to himself once more. He just needed him to realize that humans would never be enough, they would always die and leave them alone again. But England would always be there, so why was Francis so hung up on this young human?

With each sob, England's guilt grew. His heart ached for Francis, both feeling his sadness and knowing that he would never feel this over him. When France finally calmed down enough to move, his first action was to push Arthur away. The Englishman let him, preparing himself for the words of hatred and anger that he knew would come.

But Francis was silent. Slowly, he picked his head up, his eyes meeting England's and holding the gaze. Arthur was immobilized by the heartbroken look of betrayal in his old friend's eyes.

He said nothing, and watched Francis walk away.


	9. Forgiveness

Word Count: 323

Pairings: Freanne/Frisa; FrUK

Warnings: None

Companion to: Betrayal, Jealousy

* * *

Forgiveness

Even centuries later, Francis would still return to the fortification each year on the anniversary of her death, though why he went to this particular spot no one but the Frenchman knew. This yearly venture was a minor tidbit of information that Arthur had always known, but never quite had the courage to act upon.

Even as he neared Mont-Saint Michel, England could easily pick his old friend from the crowd. But before he could approach him, he realized the Frenchman wasn't alone. Arthur's eyes widened in disbelief at the young woman standing beside him. Francis was speaking, though the Englishman had no idea what about. He followed the pair around, fighting the envy that crept up each time the girl said something that put a smile on France's face.

Just as England prepared to go home without even alerting France of his presence, the girl was left alone to wonder about the mysterious man who seemed to know more about the island than anyone else.

"Bonjour, mon ami, 'ow long 'ave you been 'ere?"

England jumped and turned. "Francis! I-er…just arrived not long ago. I didn't want to disturb your….ridiculously shameless flirting."

France smirked as if he knew the extent of his friend's lie.

"Not going to make her another of your one-night stands, are you, frog?"

"'er? Never." France leaned against the rock barrier and gazed out at the sunset. "It will be best if she and I do not meet again in zis life."

England followed his eyes to the confused young woman. "You act as if you know her."

"She is very similar to Jeanne, _oui_?" Francis asked with a soft smile. "But zis time, she will live a long and 'appy life far away from _moi_. She truly deserves it."

Arthur nodded. "I…I truly am sorry, Francis."

Glancing over at him, Francis grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Mon ami, you 'ad my forgiveness long ago."


	10. Discovered

Word Count: 495

Pairings: France and nyo!England (Francis and Alice)

Warnings: None

This is an unofficial follow to GrimmReflections' "Je T'aime My Frog". I suppose I can consider this chapter dedicated to Grimmie since I made you wait so long and since you are to blame for my newfound addiction in this particular pairing….

* * *

Discovered

Alice sighed in relief as the countries were dismissed. It would be a lie to say she wanted to be there, but Arthur was sick and as his twin it was her duty to fill in.

The young woman was about to leave when she felt unwelcome hands on her hips. Her body stiffened, knowing exactly which nation would have the nerve to do such a thing.

"Your 'air is getting razer long again," the heavily accented voice noted.

"Frog, remove your hands."

"Non. You are taking too long,_ ma cherie_. We will be late if you do not 'urry up."

"Late? Late to what?" Alice demanded, shoving his hands away and turning to face him.

Francis stood closer than she realized and she unconsciously took a step back, hitting the table. Judging by his smirk, the flirtatious nation before her seemed to know just where he had her.

"Don't you remember, _Arzur_? We always 'ave dinner after ze meetings. We are in Paris zis time, so let me treat you, _oui_?"

"Of-of course," Alice replied. "How could I forget?"

"We go out every meeting, _mon amour_."

"Must have slipped my mind today, frog." Alice looked away, hiding the pained look in her eyes.

"Is zat so? Is zere somezing you need to tell me, _Arzur_?"

"What could I possibly need to tell you?" she snapped.

"Why do you insist on 'iding your face from me?" France smirked and cupped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. "I already know you are not Arzur."

Alice paled. "What are you talking about, frog?"

Francis leaned closer, his lips stopping just a short distance from hers. Francis couldn't have figured it out after being fooled for a thousand years, could he?

_Of course not,_ Alice thought_, even if he did, he's in love with Arthur…_

Before he could move closer, she put her hands on his chest and shoved him away. "Don't touch me, you damn flirt!"

Francis frowned but allowed her to push him away.

"For future reference," he said, "it is _not_ normal for Arzur and I to go out to dinner. Nor is it normal for 'im to go an entire meeting wizout glaring at me or yelling at Amerique. Zerefore you are not Arzur, _ma cherie_. So tell me who you are."

She spent a moment silently glaring at the ground. "A-Alice."

Francis smiled. "Alice. We 'ave met before."

Avoiding his eyes she nodded once.

"Oui, we have met several times. My offer for dinner still stands, _ma cherie_."

Alice glared up at him. "Hell no you bloody frog! Why would I want dinner with you?"

With a soft chuckle, France lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "'opefully we will meet again, Alice. I believe I owe you anozer kiss, oui?"

He winked and left without another word. Alice groaned and covered her reddening face in embarrassment.

_How long has the damn frog known?_


	11. Goldfish

Word Count: 299

Pairings: Assumed RusAme

Warnings: Inspired by true events

* * *

Goldfish

America was one hundred percent certain that this was the strangest predicament he had ever found himself in. Even including that time at the con with Japan, his current situation was definitely one of the worst.

"What are we doing again, Commie?" he asked, glancing at the focused man behind the wheel of the car.

"I am not going to be repeating myself, Amerika," Russia responded.

America groaned. "Dude, I was in the middle of something! You could've at least let me put some clothes on before kidnapping me!"

This caused the Russian to glance over, noting that America had on his Captain America boxers and a plain white t-shirt, but no shoes. "You are dressed enough."

"You're insane," America muttered, glaring out the window.

"Da," Russia agreed, pulling into the supermarket.

He got out of the car, waiting for a reluctant America to follow. The pair received a few questioning looks as they wandered the aisles, the taller clearly looking for something he wanted very badly. America was beginning to fear they wouldn't find whatever it was that Russia was searching for, he was sure his lover had told him but in his slight daze he couldn't exactly recall. Whatever it was must have been extremely important, which was why when the Russian excitedly reached out and plucked the small white package from the shelf, America wanted nothing more than to bang his head against the nearest wall.

"You break into my house," he began, "interrupt an important battle, grab me, throw me into my own car, and drive ten miles to three different stores just for a bag of goldfish?"

"They are being very good, da?" Russia glanced at the shelves and quickly picked up two more bags. "One is not enough. We should be getting more."


	12. Stargazing

Word Count: 471

Pairing: RusAme

Warnings: None

* * *

Stargazing

"Do you think anyone realized we're both gone yet?" America asked.

His companion shrugged. "They do not be knowing where to find us."

America sat up slightly, resting on his elbows and casting his lover a curious look. "Our bosses will totally notice we're both missing and kick our asses when they find us."

"Alfred, why are you being worried about this? Our bosses hate each other. They will not know we are being together. Let us be enjoying the night, _da_?"

The pair had snuck away from said humans halfway through the afternoon's meeting. There was no point in them staying, after all the humans refused to agree on even the slightest details. The war without battles seemed as if it would be endless. And for the personifications, it was difficult to ignore the tensions between their leaders.

With a loud sigh, Alfred laid back down on their blanket, resting his head on Ivan's shoulder. He suddenly pointed into the southern sky.

"Aquila," he said.

Ivan chuckled. "The eagle."

"Duh."

"Near is Saggitarius," Russia replied, also pointing to the sky. "And next to that is being Scorpius."

"Dude, that's cheating! You're only allowed to point to one at a time!"

"I do not recall that rule. You are just being mad because I am winning now, _da_?"

Alfred sat up again, this time to glare at the smirking Russian. "You wish."

Ivan sat up as well, leaning dangerously close to America. "My people got into space first. I think I be winning anything related to that."

"Yeah well…my people will get to the moon first! And then we'll go and visit all the planets and even the constellations!"

"Is that so, comrade?"

"Yep!"

"We will be seeing which of us is superior then, _da_?"

"_Da_!" Alfred mocked.

Ivan pushed him down into the cool, damp grass. "If I win, you will become one with Russia, _da_?"

Alfred reached up and gave Ivan's scarf a firm pull, forcing their lips to crash together. Fingers knotted in hair, and teeth playfully nipped at the others' lips until the Russian suddenly found himself beneath a cockily grinning America.

"Not happening like that, commie. I knew you only loved me for my country."

"You are a threat."

"And you're not?"

Russia shrugged.

America slowly moved off of him and turned his gaze back to the stars above them. "I wanna go there. To outer space. Where wars don't exist, and our bosses couldn't try to keep us apart… We could finally be free."

The two sat in silence for a few moments before Russia rose to his feet.

"It is getting late, Alfred. Our bosses are being in meetings tomorrow."

"Think it'll bring us to peace?"

"Nyet." Russia smiled and grabbed America's hand, pulling him to his feet. "But it is worth hoping for."


	13. The Switch

Word Count: 399

Pairings: None

Warnings: None

* * *

The Switch

Germany's eye twitched as he scanned the room for what seemed like the millionth time in the past five minutes. He could tell the other nations were just as uncomfortable as he was. At least a dozen pairs of eyes also wandered the room, looking for everything from a missing nation to a pen out of place. However, none of them even seemed to have a guess as to what could possibly be off about this meeting. But unlike the other nations, Germany's instincts refused to let it go. Something was majorly off today and it could not be ignored.

"Yo, dudes, are you even paying attention to my totally awesome and heroic speech?" America asked.

"Ja," Germany snapped, shaking his head and redirecting his attention on the presentation.

"So, in conclusion, blah blah blah, putting fast food restaurants in third world nations would totally bring an end to world hunger!"

There seemed to be a collective groan before Germany rose.

"Thank you, America, but we are out of time to discuss this further! We will pick up here tomorrow morning! Meeting adjourned!"

The room was cleared before Germany could finish his declaration. He opened his mouth to ask for a quick word with America, but was interrupted by a whining Italy who tugged on his arm and complained about not getting to eat all of his pasta for lunch.

'Canada' waited until the last of the nations were gone before approaching 'America' and slapping him on the back.

"Bro! That was perfect!"

'America' smiled shyly as the two traded their work bags. "Y-you really thought so, eh?"

"Totally! Even I believed you were me! No wonder everyone gets so confused!"

"Can we go trade back our clothes now, Al? This jacket is really uncomfortable."

"Definitely! You have no idea how hard it is for me to be that quiet! Seriously, how do you do it?!"

Canada shrugged.

"You know, with a little more practice, you could probably be loud like that without pretending to be me!"

"I'll pass, Al. I like going unnoticed…sometimes…"

"Dude, come on! You like being sat on? I had to spend the entire morning with the commie in my lap!"

As their voices faded away, Germany stepped out of the break room with a pasta-eating Italy right behind him.

"Vhat? America has a brother?" he muttered in confusion.

"Ve! You think he likes pasta?"


	14. The Consequence of War

Word Count: 487

Pairings: In my opinion none…FrUK if you want...maybe sorta past FrUK

Warnings: Feels

* * *

The Consequence of War

"_Angleterre_, I 'ave nozing more for you to take! Zere is nozing I could possibly give you which you 'ave not already claimed!" France shouted.

England stared at him coldly over a cup of cool tea. "I haven't taken everything. There's just one more thing I want from you."

France jumped to his feet, slamming his hands on the table that stood as the only barrier between them. "What more could you possibly…."

Arthur smirked, taking more pleasure than he should have from the broken look in his enemy's eyes. "As I said, just one more thing."

"Non," Francis whispered. "Non, _Angleterre_…Arzur, please. 'e needs me! You cannot take zat boy from me! 'e would never last! Not wiz you!"

The Englishman set his cup of tea down. "And how exactly do you expect to keep him? Need I remind you what a miserable state you're in right now, France? He would be better off with someone who could at least provide for him."

"You 'ave _Amerique_! Let me keep _mon petit Mathieu_! _S'il vous plait_, Arzur! I will do anyzing."

"I will be taking him. Or we will go right back to war. We both know how that would end."

France shook his head. "Zere must be somezing else."

"Give up, Francis!" Arthur exclaimed. "You lost! Canada will now become mine. I believe we're done here, France."

As England stood, France fell back into his own chair. He covered his face with his hands, unwillingly to ever let the other man see him cry.

"At least let me explain zings to 'im. I want to say goodbye."

Arthur stopped at the door. "No. I will explain the situation to him."

Francis glared up at him. "Non! You will tell 'im lies! Just a few minutes wiz 'im!"

"You are forbidden from seeing him again, Francis," Arthur told him, looking over his shoulder to make sure his message delivered the final blow. "You will not set foot within Canadian territory, and you will not approach Matthew. From this day forth, he belongs to me. You are to stay away."

"You cannot just win ze war, can you? You 'ave to make sure to cause ze most pain to your opponent as possible." Francis looked up, meeting Arthur's gaze across the room. "If you ever make even ze slightest mistake wiz 'im, I will find a way to get 'im away from you. Someday I will cause you to feel ze same pain you are causing me today. No matter ze cost, I will make sure to destroy your 'eart."

Arthur turned away. "You'll be lucky to survive the outcome of this war, Francis. But you have no need to worry. Matthew will be fine."

The room fell to silence once more, lasting until the Englishman deemed it time to leave. As the door slammed closed, the Frenchman fell forward, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

"_Desole, mon petit….desole_."


	15. People Are Crazy

Word Count: 316

Pairings: None

Warnings: Character Death, AU, extremely random

Based off the song "People are Crazy" by Billy Currington

* * *

People are Crazy

To this day, Alfred has no idea what possessed him to walk into that bar. He blamed it on luck, but it was probably just the frustration at losing another job and having no place to go other than the apartment he would lose shortly due to his current unemployment status.

The American expected to have a few drinks and stumble home, waking his hateful neighbors and their spoiled brats. Instead, he met Arthur.

Arthur had to have been at least in his early eighties, from what Alfred could tell. A veteran of the Royal Air Force. And from what Alfred got from their conversation, notoriously known for picking up women. He traveled to the states and never went back.

The pair talked for hours, walking away from the bar only long enough for Arthur to light up a cigarette. Even Alfred had trouble keeping track of their conversation, everything ranging from one night stands to Alfred's current luck.

"God is great," Arthur murmured as the bartender shouted for the last call. "Beer is good. People are crazy."

When he left, patted the old man's shoulder, thanking him for his time. It was less than a week later when Alfred saw him again. He bought the newspaper to look through the classifieds, hoping against the odds that he would find a job soon. The man's face had been on the front page. A millionaire who lost a battle with lung cancer, leaving everything he owned to a young man his family had never met after changing his own will just a few days before his sudden death.

And even now, years later, Alfred found himself visiting the seaside grave, owing everything to the man he barely knew. He smiled and set the six-pack in his hand against the headstone.

"You really were right, old man," he said. "God is great, beer is good, people are crazy."


	16. Become One With Russia

Words: 240

Pairings: RusAme

Warnings: none

* * *

Become One With Russia

They glared at each other from their seats next to each other. The meeting had long since ended, but two remained their eyes locked in a cold gaze. Much to the surprise of both of them, it was the quieter of the two who broke the silence.

"Everyone will become one with Russia one day, da?"

America glared at him a moment before a sudden thought hit him. "You do realize that if everyone becomes one with you they'll disappear, right?"

Russia stared at him in confusion.

"Like, seriously, dude, if the entire world is the country Russia, no other country would exist. The other personifications wouldn't exist because they wouldn't be needed. They'd disappear."

Ivan frowned, not saying anything.

After a few moments, Alfred smirked. "Didn't think about that, did ya, commie?"

"Shut up."

America stood up and patted his shoulder. "Just something to think about, dude."

"I will make sure to leave Amerika uninvaded," Russia said after a few minutes of silence. "Then I will not be alone, da?"

His foe turned to stare at him from the doorway. "You couldn't take me anyway. You're stuck with me 'til the end of time."

Ivan smiled, getting up and stalking towards his friend. "And you are stuck with me, Alfred."

Alfred reached up and wrapped a hand around the Russian's scarf, pulling him closer to the point their faces nearly touched.

"So I won't let you be alone."


	17. America's Letter to Russia

Words: 364

Pairings: RusAme

Warnings: None

* * *

America's Letter to Russia

We started as acquaintances, allies more or less. You accepted me into your world, shakily at first then all at once. I never forgot that you were one of the first to acknowledge me, one of the first to understand that I was more than the mask.

Our next step was friendship. Again, the beginning was shaky. But our closeness grew even more as years and years passed, fading in and out of each others lives but never completely leaving the other behind. The reliance was subtle, you never realized how important you were. You were always the strong one. Always there, whether in presence or thoughts. One of the few who did not turn against me, even at my weakest point.

Next was misery. You fell apart. So did I. Tensions rose. Wars erupted. Yet even as my enemy, someone not to be trusted, someone hated, someone who wanted the end of me, you never left my mind. We stood silent, trying to prove ourselves the stronger of two, neither having the courage to admit being wrong. I could sense the anger you held, directed toward me for reasons that made little sense. You were right, I was wrong. I was right, you were wrong. Yet, you wanted me dead. Our weapons prepared for our doom, a mutual destruction from both being apart and wanting nothing more than to escape the other. You fell once more, but I could not let you drown. I could never let you drown. I still needed you. And I hated that feeling.

And yet, I never hated you. I could never in a million years bring myself to hate you.

Because no matter what you did—whether you refused to speak to me, returning to the era of cold war loneliness; whether you strangled me with your bare hands or the scarf around your neck; whether you pulled the trigger of the gun you've held to my head for so long; or whether you tore out my beating heart and crushed it before my very eyes—I would love you all the same.

Until the end of time I will love you. But you can never know.


	18. Kumajiro

Word Count: 145

Pairings: None

Warnings: None

* * *

Kumajiro

The boy was quiet. A bit too quiet for Francis, being used to the human children who ran and played until ordered to stop and behave. But he still belonged to France, and for now that was all that mattered. And yet something pulled at the older nation's heart. This child was not just a new colony to be used for his benefit. This child was someone he loved dearly, and it was no secret that the child was greatly spoiled by his 'big brother'.

So when France saw the small white bear, he had to bring it home. It was a simple object, nothing more than a small stuffed toy. But the smile that lit up Canada's face upon realizing it now belonged to him was something that made the gesture worth it. France would take care of the boy, because Canada was his.


	19. Kumajiro's Alive!

Word Count: 123

Pairings: FrUK if you squint, somewhat implied; FACE Family

Warnings: None

* * *

Kumajiro's Alive?!

It was no secret that on occasion England had…difficulties with magic. It was also no secret that, although Francis warned him several times to not do magic in front of the boys, when alone, England entertained young America and Canada with simple tricks that even a circus magician could not mess up.

On one particular day, he asked his makeshift audience, America, Canada, an army of toy soldiers, and a stuffed Kumajiro held tightly in Canada's arms, for a volunteer in order to dazzle them with a trick he had yet to try.

America laughed when France realized the little stuffed bear he had given his little colony was now alive. Canada merely gave a wide grin as he held his new pet.


	20. Grandpa Rome's Visit

Word Count: 184

Pairings: GerIta, Spamano

Warnings: Not the best

* * *

Grandpa Rome's Visit

Although he loved to tease the German his beloved grandson so often crawled into bed with, Rome knew his time was limited and quickly left the confused German to his own devices. It might seem he favored his youngest grandson, but Rome was not careless when it came to his family. And so he found himself in the small Spanish villa, staring at an empty bed in confusion.

Knowing his time was nearly up, Rome wandered from room to room of the Spaniard's home until he found what he was looking for. Right there in Spain's embrace lay Italy Romano. The normally angry and volatile young man slept more peacefully than he ever had as a child. Rome smirked, his mind already reeling with ideas of how to tease his older grandson.

But that would have to wait for another day. Gently patting Romano's head, Rome took his leave, knowing it would not be long before he returned again. And next time, he would make sure the Italian knew his presence. The German wasn't the only one he enjoyed teasing about sharing a bed.


	21. Broken Family

Word Count: 315

Pairings: None

Warnings: None

Broken Family

Canada believed him. It wasn't that England expected the young boy to openly accuse him of lies and demand to see Francis, but he never expected the child to cry. Nor did he anticipate the sudden flight up the stairs, ending the scene with a slamming door.

A young America peeked into the room, watching England sadly begin to gather his things in preparation to leave the boys again. Sneaking up the stairs, America pushed his brother's door open. The Canadian lay curled up on the bed, gently running his hand through the fur of his prized pet.

"Mattie?"

Canada whimpered softly in reply. America walked over, standing beside the bed.

"He'll come back. Engwand leaves me all the time."

Matthew shook his head, burying his face into the soft, white fur. "England said I was his little brother now. Papa France isn't coming to get me!"

With a confused frown, Alfred climbed into bed and curled up beside his brother. "It'll be okay, Mattie. Papa France and Engwand fight all the time, remember? Engwand will make him come back soon."

Not one to destroy his brother's delusions, Matthew remained silent. He rested his head against his brother's shoulder, letting his eyes close as Alfred's arms wrapped around him.

Before he left, England always made sure to say his goodbyes to the boys. He would begin with America, but upon finding an empty room, he moved to check on Canada before planning a search. He looked into the room, his shoulders sagging at the sight within.

The boys lay clinging to each other, both fast asleep with Kumajiro laying over them protectively. Tears stained Canada's cheeks, and his face was scrunched up in distress as if his dreams had taken a wrong turn. England crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently brushing hair from the boys' faces.

"I'm sorry, boys…"


	22. Eevie

Word Count: 144

Pairings: RusAme

Warnings: None

* * *

Eevie

In all the years they had known each other, there was something that always bothered Ivan about his American friend: Alfred could not pronounce his name right. No matter how many times he sat him down to correct the pronunciation, the American preferred to pronounce it his own way.

Russia frowned at his comrade, fighting the urge to strangle the other nation. "It is pronounced Ee-vahn. Not I-van, American idiot."

"Ee-vahn," America repeated with an unhappy expression.

"_Da_."

America's face suddenly burst into a smile. "So like Eevie!"

"Do not call me that."

"I'm totally calling you Eevie now."

"Do not call me Eevie."

"Hey, Eevie, you wanna go see the new space exhibit at the Smithsonian this weekend?"

Ivan sighed. "Of course, Alfred."

"Cool! See ya then Eevie!" America jumped up and left the room, leaving Ivan to fume about his newfound nickname.


	23. Love Found

Word Count: 334

Pairings: Fem!England and France (AlicexFrancis)

Warnings: None

* * *

Love Found

Francis was going mad. His heart had been shattered by the one he believed to be his true love. Everything he knew about his beloved "_l'amour"_ had flown out the window when she left. It had been nothing more than a simple "we're through" at the end of the previous meeting, however it had been so sudden that it caught nearly everyone who had overheard the exchange off-guard.

And yet even nearly a month later, Francis could not bring himself to seek the physical comfort of another. It was common for him to do so after rough break ups, mourn for a few hours then go out for a one night stand. Of course, he wasn't too horrible, me made sure the night was perfect for all of his lovers, even when he never intended to see them again. As much as he desired to be wanted for the evening in a dance of passion, his heart refused to betray her.

Because after being with her, even if they had only been truly intimate on one occasion, no other could ever even begin to arouse the Frenchman's attention.

So he sat in his bedroom alone with a glass of wine as he pretended to read a passionate romance novel while considering what could have possibly gone wrong in their relationship. Everything had been going so well, what could have changed?

He was so lost in reliving the past couple months that he did not hear the knocking at first. But the noise became persistent enough that he was ripped from his thoughts in order to go down to see who could have come to see him on such a lonely night.

As if the gods of love were shining down upon him, the very object of his desires stood alone on his front porch.

"Alice?"

The young English woman looked away for a moment before adjusting her grip on the suitcase in her hands and giving him an apologetic look. "May I come in?"


	24. Too Late

Word Count: 225

Pairings: France/Fem!UK (France and Alice); one-sided FRUK (France/Arthur)

Warnings: Implied Character Death

* * *

Too Late

Her trip began with a simple voice message left on her phone. It wasn't long, just a simple "_Je t'aime_" in the all two familiar voice of her beloved Frenchman. But there was something in his voice that scared the young woman. She could sense that something was very wrong.

So she took off to Paris. Not even packing a bag, or letting anyone know where she would be. she didn't have time to be slowed down by such things. It was important that she got there as soon as possible. Of course, as her longing to be on French soil grew, she began to fear there were other reasons for her desperation to get to Paris.

But she still had time. No matter how quickly the clock was ticking down. When true love was involved it was never too late, wasn't that what her dear Francis said on too many occasions. So she had to get there in time. He couldn't leave her. Not like this.

Her brother Arthur sat on the front porch of the house she would never admit she thought of as her true home. Alice slowed as she reached him, her heart racing as she scanned the house for any signs of life within. Solemn green eyes slowly met hers as he spoke the words she most feared:

"He's gone."


	25. Love Lost

Word Count: 334

Pairings: France/Fem!England (Francis/Alice)

Warnings: Feels

* * *

Love Lost

Alice was typically not one for rumors. Once in a great while she would listen in, just to hear what sorts of things were going around, however she never truly believed anything she heard. That is, until she heard the rumors about Francis.

The two had not been together long, though she had developed feelings for him long ago. She knew he had a past, one with many lovers and a great deal of flirting. That was something she had come to accept, he was hers now and that was that. Or so she thought.

"I heard he was seen sneaking out of a broom closet with one of his ambassadors."

"That lovely secretary of his practically lives in his bedroom."

"He was caught with America after the last meeting ended."

"That's old news, I saw he had the hotel desk clerk in his room last night."

The whispers continued throughout the meeting, various stories gossip, though Francis was always mentioned in one compromising situation or another. Alice tried to ignore it, she truly did but it was becoming more and more difficult as the meeting was dismissed for lunch.

As expected, arms reached down to wrap around her shoulders. She tensed, shrugging his arms off and beginning to gather her things.

"_Mon amour_, is somezing wrong?"

Alice turned to face him, clutching tightly to the folders in her arms. "We're through."

Blue eyes widened as he pulled back. "_Quoi_?"

She ducked her head and quickly walked away. Francis stood unmoving, ignorant to the sympathetic stares he received from those who had not yet left the room. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, not knowing what to do beyond burying his face in his hands and letting the tears flow. A short distance down the hall Alice stepped into an empty room and locked the door. She slowly slid to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold herself together while tears began to flow.

The lovers wept.


	26. She Will Be

Word Count: 500

Pairings: France/Fem!England (Francis/Alice)

Warnings: None

Prequel to _Too Late_

* * *

She Will Be…

Francis could see that Arthur was terrified. It wasn't often that the Brit invited him over, though he had seen more of him in recent months due to his relationship with Arthur's twin Alice. The fact that the grumpy gentleman had called Francis over was frightening enough, but since it was about Alice, Francis came running.

"I don't know what to do," Arthur whispered, staring at the cup of tea in front of him.

"Is zere a way to save 'er? Somezing to stop zis?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Francis, I'm doing everything I can but…"

"Non, she cannot disappear! Zere is nozing wrong wiz your country!"

"Two of us are no longer needed. I tried taking her place but she refused to let me." Arthur looked up. "I was hoping that between you and I we might be able to recall this happening to others in the past?"

"_Desole_, _mon ami_, but I do not remember zis 'appening…not in zese circumstances… Arzur, please, zere must be a way to save 'er… what about your magic? Surely zere is somezing?"

"You think I haven't thought of that you bloody frog?" Arthur shouted. "My sister is disappearing and there is nothing I can do to save her!"

"Angleterre, zere was a spell you did once, a very long time ago. It was to replace ze personification of a nation. If you replaced moi, wiz 'er—"

"Don't you even think about it, Francis!" Arthur jumped to his feet, grabbing France by the collar of his shirt. "Don't even consider it! Do you think Alice would ever forgive me if I let you sacrifice yourself for her? You have no idea what the consequences of that would be!"

Francis pushed him away. "And you zink I will let 'er disappear and do nozing to stop it? I love 'er! Zere is no one I 'ave ever loved more zan Alice! I refuse to let 'er fade away simply because England only needs on representative!"

England hung his head. "It's out of the question, Francis. But maybe I could find a similar spell somewhere…I'll have to think on it."

"We boz need rest, _mon ami_. We 'ave a few more days before it will be too late. She will be…she will be safe."

Arthur nodded. "Good night, Francis."

"Bonne nuit,_ mon ami_."

Francis watched Arthur go upstairs before he ventured through the house, searching for one thing only. He found her in her bedroom, running a brush through long blonde hair. She smiled sadly when she noticed him, unable to pretend any longer that she didn't know.

He stepped into the room, taking the brush from her hands and cupping her chin. "I will protect you at all costs, _mon amour_."

Before she had a chance to respond or ask what he meant, his lips crashed against hers.

It was a few hours after Francis left for Paris a day later when Arthur noticed it, a spell book was missing.


	27. The Love Potion

Word Count: 492

Pairings: FrUK

Warnings: None

* * *

The Love Potion

He said nothing about the strange taste in the tea. He knew enough about England's kitchen skills to know it was likely the result of a simple mistake. Either way, it was an interesting taste, and France doubted it would kill him, being a nation had its perks after all. So he drank it without question, not noticing the scrutiny of the British man's eyes.

He was equally quiet later that day when he noticed that his ratatouille tasted off, though he had done everything the same as always when cooking the dish. He attributed it to the possibility that England attempted to help when he wasn't looking. So he ate it, once more ignoring the green eyes focused on him.

By the time they had tea later that evening, just before bed, France had had enough. He'd seen the open potions book, reading the page it was left on with curiosity then intrigue. England didn't usually forget to close his books, but he must have been in a hurry when he learned the Frenchman was visiting that day. He set his cup down, just barely catching the panicked look in his friends eyes as he focuses his attention to his little rabbit.

"_Angleterre_, 'ave you been putting zings in our food and drink today?"

The fact that England actually tried to look angry amused France to no end.

"What the hell would I put in your drink?" England demanded. "We're nations! You wouldn't die from poison!"

"Hmm…so what could you possibly keep putting in zings zat make zem taste so strange?"

"Nothing, you bloody frog!" England huffed, staring at his tea like a guilty child.

France stood up, walking over to sit on the arm of the chair which England occupied. He leaned back, draping his arm across the back.

"So what are you trying to do to me, mon cher? Was it just a spice you insisted on trying?"

England pretended to ignore him.

"You said it wasn't a poison, oui? A truz serum per'aps? As if I would lie to you on zings you need to know. Surely zat is not it."

Silence.

"Anozer potion to turn me into a frog?"

"I wish," England muttered.

"Ah, so zere is somezing you are trying to give me."

England glared at him.

France smirked. "Let's see…it couldn't possibly be a love potion…"

The British nation quickly turned away, but not before France caught the light blush staining his friend's cheeks.

_"Mon lapin?"_ France reached out to cup England's chin, turning his head to face him.

England batted his hand away. "Shut up! It was…just a joke, stupid frog! It didn't work anyway…"

France chuckled. "Of course it wouldn't work on me, _mon cher_."

England frowned, trying his hardest to distance himself from the Frenchman. France smirked and pulled him back.

"_Mon lapin_, I zink you misunderstand. Your love potions cannot work on me because I am already in love wiz you."


	28. Don't Forget

Word Count: 167

Pairings: Past FrAus

Warnings: None

* * *

Don't Forget

Their love had been short-lived. It started off difficult, to the point both wondered how they would ever make things work. The Austrian, having already been in several failed marriages and knowing too many details on the Frenchman's love live, was stubborn. The Frenchman had likewise been wary of their arrangement, fearing his desire for love would not be fulfilled. But they ended up falling in love, something no one who knew them understood.

But it was over before it began. The pair split, their respective nations on bad terms nearly ending each other in wars and disputes. Centuries passed, and the two barely saw each other save for the rare meetings. Neither forgot their love.

If one was completely quiet on nights of world meetings, it would be possible to hear soft music from a distant piano. If the night was lonely, from another part of the building a soft singing voice would be heard in accompaniment. It was a duet that neither would ever forget.


	29. Dawn of the Revolution

Word Count: 150

Pairings: None, FrUS if you want

Warnings: None

* * *

Dawn of the Revolution

He wasn't supposed to be there. America knew that England would be furious if he found out he let their previous enemy into his house. But England was gone, and the teen didn't know when, or if, he'd be back.

France wandered around the sitting room, stopping to gaze at the recent portrait of America and his twin Canada, the latter having been formerly in France's care.

America didn't ask why France was there. France did not say.

Eventually he inquired about Canada, and how America was faring. He had already heard of America's longing to be free, to become his own nation. France offered little to the conversation, letting America go on about what he had missed in the last few years. But when he prepared to leave, he touched America's arm, making sure to capture the young man's full attention.

"When you tire of England's tyranny…let me know."


	30. Busted

Word Count: 341

Pairings: AmeBel

Warnings: None

* * *

Busted

At first he thought he was hallucinating. After all, why would she be there in his country without telling anyone? He knew nothing about meetings between them, although he had skipped work today but surely he would have been told there was a meeting. Unless she was there to spy.

Narrowing his eyes, America quickly bought his movie ticket and snuck through the crowd to the arcade where she had disappeared. In the shadows of the back corner she stood at a pinball machine. Alfred stood watching her for a few minutes before he strode over, stopping behind her.

"Belarus?"

The girl gasped and turned. "Al-America!"

The American grinned. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming over?"

"I was just…I'm not staying long. Just the weekend. You're not…angry are you?"

"Of course not! But what are you doing at a movie theater?"

The blonde shuffled her feet. "I came to see a movie."

"Really?! What movie?"

She murmured a reply, looking away in slight embarrassment.

"What was that?"

"Captain America…" she said a bit louder, holding up her ticket.

The American's face lit up. "No way! I didn't know you liked Marvel movies!"

"Don't tell Vanya…"

"Your secret's safe with me, dude! That's what I'm going to see too!" America flashed his ticket. "Wanna sit with me? it's no fun seeing movies alone."

"I…of course, America."

He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the theater. "You can call me Alfred you know."

Staring at their entwined hands, Natalya nodded. "Alfred…"

His grin widened. "So why were you sneaking around?"

"I didn't want to be caught. I wasn't expecting to see you here. I've seen all the other movies without running into you…"

"What? You saw them all alone?!"

Natalya shrugged.

"Tell ya what, you tell me when you're coming over, and we can see the next movies together?"

"I would like that…but it sounds like a date…"

America shrugged sheepishly. "I guess it does…it could be, if you wanted…"

Natalya smiled. "I would like that."


	31. The Storm

Word Count: 341

Pairings: FrUK

Warnings: None

* * *

The Storm

The storm might have been raging outside the home, but the greatest force was within.

The boys could hear the shouts from their room. What their fathers were fighting about this time they had no idea, but whatever it could be must have been a very serious matter. Their yells overpowered the storm outside, booming over the claps of thunder as if the storm were a mere whisper in the distance.

Matthew clutched his hands over his ears. Sensing his brother's distress, Alfred went over and pulled him into an embrace. For what seemed like hours the brother stayed locked against each other as the storms raged on.

As the rain began to subside, so did the shouts from downstairs. Silence took over the house as the night quieted. Fearing what could have happened, the boys ventured from their room, creeping down the stairs and taking great care not to make a peep.

Broken plates littered the floor. The furniture lay in disarray. Paintings had been torn from the walls. Small trinkets were scattered about. All proof that the room had been the most recent battleground in the war.

It was the kitchen in which they found their fathers.

France sat on the floor, blonde hair handing in a mess around his face. a red handprint stained his cheek and a drop of blood fell from a cut on his lip. His clothing was torn and stained with dirt and blood, whether it was England's or his own was anyone's guess.

England stood over him in a similar state, his head hanging in shame as a hand slowly reached down to pet Francis' head. The motion was gentle, as if the two hadn't been trying to kill each other just moments before. Francis looked up, letting out a sigh as he reached for England's hand. His lover slipped to the floor beside him, leaning his head against his shoulder.

Knowing the calm would last through the night, the brothers exchanged a look and crept back upstairs, slipping into a peaceful sleep.


	32. Breaking the News

Word Count: 228

Pairings: HRE/Chibitalia

Warnings: HRE feels

* * *

Breaking the News

It wasn't that Austria didn't know how to break the news to little Italy. He had been around long enough that he'd gone through this more than once before. He was more wary of breaking the child's heart than anything else. He knew all too well about his infatuation with Holy Roman Empire, and through his wife had found out about the promise that had been made between the two young countries. A promise which was broken.

Because of Austria.

He threw the blame at others, particularly France who had likely been responsible for delivering the finals blows to the young boy. But in the back of his mind, Austria knew the fault was his. He was the only one who dissolved the Holy Roman Empire. He was the one who refused to attempt saving what little was left.

So it was up to him to be the one to share the news with Italy, who came to Austria just as he did every day to inquire about his lost love. Today was different, instead of sending the little one away as usual, Austria called him in to sit down.

Italy tilted his head in confusion but complied. Austria took a deep breath and sat next to him, mentally preparing himself for the worst.

"Italy, there is something I have to tell you. It's about Holy Roman Empire..."


	33. At First Sight

Word Count: 374

Pairings: AmeBel

Warnings: None

* * *

At First Sight

America hated meetings. It wasn't that he didn't understand the importance of them, truly he did. However, when England expected him to keep silent as he spoke with other nations about the well-being of America's people, he tended to get annoyed. Canada sat beside him, the well-behaved colony that never gave their older brother any trouble. It was America who was quickly becoming the problem child, hating the fact that England controlled everything that went on in _his_ territory.

He sunk down in his seat, ignoring the glare he was thrown from his older brother. The meeting hadn't even started yet and America was more than ready to go home. Or so he thought.

The door opened and a tall, light blonde man walked in, silencing the room. He was immediately followed by a heavily bosomed woman who quickly took a seat at the table beside him. A moment later a younger girl walked in, she quickly shifted her gaze down and rushed to her brother's side. She moved the chair uncomfortably close to him.

America immediately sat up straighter, his eyes locked on the mysterious girl who stared down at the table. "Who is she?"

"Don't even think about it, Alfred!" England hissed. "Those are Russia's sisters. The older one is Ukraine. The younger one is Belarus."

"Belarus…."

"Do not go near any of them unless I am with you, understood?"

"But she's—"

"That's enough. The meeting is starting."

America threw a glare in England's direction before returning his gaze to Belarus. His eyes met hers and Alfred gave a small smile. She held his gaze for a moment before her cheeks reddened and she immediately looked to her brother, who had been pulled into a conversation on trade routes. America continued to stare. He noticed that even though she hung on every word that left the Russian's mouth, her eyes seemed a million miles away. Even when Russia turned to look at her, giving her just a moment of his full attention, and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly but America could tell it was still pained.

He wanted to be the one to make Belarus truly smile. But first, he had to get out from under England's control...


	34. The Fight

Word Count: 208

Pairings: FrUK

Warnings: Language

* * *

The Fight

The two were at it again: their endless fighting. By now the meeting room had cleared, it was after all well into the evening. Vain efforts to silence them had long since been abandoned, leaving the two—who had been reduced to personal insults for what seemed like hours by this point—alone in the room.

"Damn frog!"

"Tasteless cretin!"

"Flirtatious wanker!"

"Black sheep!"

"_Je t'aime_!"

France opened his mouth to reply, only to process what England had said. He stared at him a moment as the Brit's eyes widened and he slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Say zat again,_ s'il vous plait._"

"I don't mean it."

France smirked. "_Mon amour_, we boz know zat you don't say what you don't mean."

"I do so!"

"Non, not zings like zat, _Angleterre,"_ the Frenchman said with a smirk as he inched closer. "I want to 'ear it again."

England hesitated. "I…"

"You?" France prompted.

"I…love…" England turned away, refusing to say more.

France cupped his friend's chin, not about to let this opportunity escape him. He forced the Brit to look up at him. "You love who?"

"I love you…" England murmured.

_"Tres bien,"_ France whispered, crashing his lips against those of his lover.

The fight was won.


	35. Alone

Word Count: 321

Pairings: France/Nyo!UK; one sided FrUK

Warnings: Character deaths

Note: Can be seen as a sequel to the "She Will Be…" and "Too Late" storyline

* * *

Alone

The fact that he was alone was his own fault really. He'd been the one to cast the original spell in the first place. He'd been the one to ruin their relationship. He'd been the cause of his love's desperation. He'd been the cause of his twin sister's heartbreak. He was the reason France disappeared.

It wasn't because he was angry with the Frenchman, quite the opposite in all honesty. Arthur was in love with Francis. Deeply in love. To the point of insanity he now realized.

But Francis had chosen Alice.

That was the worst part. Arthur had been unable to handle the sight of his twin sister in the arms of the man he loved. Touching and kissing the one Arthur wanted for himself. Francis was Arthur's and Alice couldn't have him.

So he tried to get rid of her. After all, there was no reason for two representations of England, it was a small country. She was never supposed to exist anyway, so it would not be damaging to their country. The spell was simple, he'd done it before, not that anyone but him remembered. He would erase her from existence, and once the spell sunk in enough that Francis forgot her, he would fully belong to Arthur.

In the end, Alice was still there, but only until she could handle her grief no more. Francis had still found a way to choose her, sacrificing everything so that she may be happy. Because Alice was the one Francis couldn't live without. Alice was the one he had chosen to give his life for. Arthur was the one left behind.

History was doomed to repeat itself. Arthur had chosen to follow in the footsteps of the one before him. And just like her, he was alone. He would never have a lover. He no longer had a sister. He could do naught but lay a rose on a grave.


	36. The Broken Promise

Word Count: 203

Pairings: HRE/Chibitalia

Warnings: implied character "death"

* * *

The Broken Promise

By now he was numb, although just moments ago the pain had been nearly unbearable. Holy Roman Empire had barely been able to stand it, yet he had endured. He had to endure. If he didn't then who would take care of his beloved Italy? Had he not promised to return? He was ambitious of course, but that did not mean he was without honor.

So he had to endure. He was a nation, and soon the pain and numbness would be gone. Soon it would all be well again, and he could return to Italy a stronger nation than before.

But he knew that was a lie. He lay alone in the field, surrounded by the bodies and blood of his soldiers. His own wounds had not even begun to heal, though he had laid in pain for what seemed like days. But no one came to his rescue. Little Italy had been right, he now realized, and Holy Rome had tried to become too strong. Italy had feared he would never return if he left. But Holy Rome had insisted that his crush was paranoid. He had accepted the kiss and promised to return someday.

And now his promise was broken.


	37. Stockholm Syndrome

Word Count: 124

Pairings: RusLiet

Warnings: Suggested abuse…nothing detailed or worthy of warning

* * *

Stockholm Syndrome

He shouldn't love him. He shouldn't allow the cruelty. He shouldn't ignore the abuse. He shouldn't enjoy the pain. But he couldn't get enough.

It was a nightmare, living under the tyrant's rule.

But he didn't want to live anywhere else. He could never live with anyone else. Not now.

He belonged to Russia. He was no more than a possession in the hands of one of the most powerful nations in the world.

But he wasn't the only one Russia claimed. He wasn't the only one trapped. He wasn't the only one Russia stole. But he was the only one who went willingly.

He was masochistic.

He was desperate.

He was insane.

He was Lithuania.

And he was in love with his captor.


	38. Backfired

Word Count: 204

Pairings: AmeBel

Warnings: None

* * *

Backfired

In the beginning, America did it to spite Russia. He wanted nothing more than to make his enemy mad. So if anyone had told him a month ago that he would actually develop feelings for the girl, he would have laughed believing it to be a lie.

But that was then. And now things changed.

Now Alfred couldn't get the young beauty off his mind. He couldn't go a day without trying to make her smile, whether that be during the most boring of meetings or over one of their phone conversations. He craved her presence, sometimes going out of his way to make sure they could see each other.

He began to spend every free moment with her, slowly getting the Belarusian to open up to him. And he marveled at how well they fit together. At the way she could so easily slip into his arms. At the way she would meet his eyes in both private and public settings to silently ask for his attention. Even the way she suddenly ended her stalking of the Russian in order to seek America's company instead.

America had meant to do nothing more than annoy his enemy. And somehow, he had fallen in love.


	39. Aftermath

Word Count: 483

Pairings: AmeBel

Warnings: mention of character death

Note: This is a sequel to GrimmReflection's drabble "Russian Roulette" and the days those events

* * *

Aftermath

America knew the moment he got home that someone was in his house. The door was still closed and locked. Nothing was out of place, but Alfred knew that he was not alone. So he withdrew the gun he carried at his hip and with a finger on the trigger he slowly made his way through the house. Just as he turned the corner into the dining room he felt hands grab him from behind and the cool metal of a knife at his throat.

"You're late," a voice hissed in his ear.

America lowered his weapon. "Natalya?"

The blade was pushed into his skin, allowing America to feel how badly her hands were shaking.

"Where were you?" she demanded.

America sighed. "If you're going to kill me just do it already. I won't fight you."

A drop of blood slipped onto the metal of the blade before Natalya retreated, releasing the American as she stepped away.

"You're late," she repeated.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your boss said you got off work at five. It's past eight. Where were you?"

Alfred blinked, turning to face the girl with a confused expression. "I was just…driving around. Natalya, why are you here?"

She frowned. "You're supposed to be happy to see me."

"It's not that I'm not happy, but what are you doing here?"

"Big Brother is dead."

America flinched. "I know, Natalya. I'm so sorry."

"America is at fault."

"I didn't know!"

"Yes you did!" she shrieked. "And you ran away like a coward!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"

"You have to marry me now."

"-that he-what?"

"Big brother said so. He said you have to take care of me now!"

America gently reached out to take her hand, saying nothing as he pulled her into the living room and pulled her into his lap as he sat on the couch. The Belarusian curled up in his lap, her hands clenching the fabric of his shirt.

"He said to come to you!" she cried. "Why would he send me to you?"

"I don't know," Alfred whispered.

Alfred wrapped his arms around her, letting her lean into him and cry onto his shoulder. A hand slowly slipped up to her hair, running his fingers through the soft, light locks.

"Before he died," America finally began, "Ivan made me promise him something. He knew what was going to happen. I don't know why he did it. If I had known what would happen I never would've pulled the trigger… But he made me promise to take you on a date. He made me promise to take care of you."

Natalya sat up enough to look into Alfred's eyes. "He did?"

Alfred nodded. "And I don't break promises. So I swear to you Natalya, I will do everything I can to take care of you and make you happy."

"Then marry me."

"Whatever you wish, Nat."


	40. Dried Roses

Word Count: 467

Pairings: FrUK

Warnings: None

* * *

Dried Roses

France had only gone down there to look for another bottle of wine. Unfortunately while waiting for the grumpy Englishman to return from work, Francis decided to help himself to the small amount of wine kept specifically for the Frenchman's unexpected visits.

But when he went down into the wine cellar, he was disappointed to find not only did England not have another bottle of wine, but the room was most certainly not used for its intended purpose. Not only were the shelves on the walls empty of wine, but instead each held a bouquet of flowers. Upon turning on the light, Francis realized more flowers hung from the ceiling to dry out. And they weren't just any flowers, but roses.

With a curious expression, Francis pulled one of the bouquets from its slow for a closer look. As he slid the flowers from their place, a small envelope fell to the ground. Francis bent down to pick it up, surprised to find his own handwriting addressing the letter to England. He opened the note, eyes widening when he found it dated to the thirteenth century. Putting that back in its place, France moved on to the next shelf finding another letter dated a few years later. Again and again France pulled out the flowers, each accompanied by a love letter written to England in his own hand, their dates going from the most recent just a few weeks ago to the very first letter over a thousand years before.

So caught up in his recent discovery, Francis didn't notice England's return until the Brit was right behind him.

"Francis? What the bloody hell are you doing down here?" he shouted. "Why are you even in my house?"

"You kept zem," France whispered, turning to face his on-again-off-again lover.

Unable to come up with an excuse England just glared at him.

France stepped towards him. "All of zem…you kept everyzing…"

England quickly looked down to hide a sudden blush. "You shouldn't snoop around people's houses."

"Every single letter I 'ave ever sent you is 'ere, isn't it? Every letter and every rose… _Angleterre_, over all ze years…you kept zem?"

"Yes, you damn frog! I kept all the letters you sent me! Are you happy now?!"

With a smirk, France closed the distance between them. "_Je t'aime, mon lapin_."

"Love you too," Arthur muttered. "Now tell me what you're doing in my house, frog."

"I came to see you." France happily leaned forward to brush his lips against England's. "And I found a pleasant surprise."

"Yeah, yeah. Can we go upstairs now?"

"_Ohonhonhon_, _Angleterre_, you just got 'ome and already you want me in your bed?"

"That's not...! Forget it. Let's go, frog."

Without hesitation the embarrassed Brit grabbed the laughing Frenchman's hand and pulled him back upstairs.


	41. Late Night Thoughts

Word Count: 188

Pairings: Spamano

Warnings: None

* * *

Late Night Thoughts

Although Romano would never admit it, on the nights he found himself unable to sleep he would sit watching his Spaniard. It was nights like this that he was haunted by overheard conversations of their fellow nations. He knew what they said without hearing it: that Antonio could easily leave him for someone not as…stubbornly hateful as Romano. And the younger nation had wondered more than once why his lover had patience with him.

He was clumsy and lazy. He constantly hurled insults at his Spaniard. He would storm away from arguments and refuse to speak for hours. Yet Spain never complained. And even more importantly: Spain never compared Romano to Feliciano. Spain was the only one to see him as Romano, and most certainly the only one to accept him and put up with his antics. Spain was also the only one to see his smile, the only one to ever see the softer side of the opinionated Italian.

Romano smiled softly, settling back next to his lover as sleep threatened to claim him. He might not say it often enough, but he loved his tomato bastard.


	42. The Bayeux Tapestry

Word Count: 163

Pairings: FrUK

Warnings: Slightly evil and out-of-character France

Note: This was inspired by my Intro to Art History course on the day we discussed a lovely piece known as the Bayeux Tapestry which depicts the conquest of England by Norman invaders. The important aspect is that it was made in England by English people, not France.

* * *

The Bayeux Tapestry

France was clearly smug. Too smug for the Englishman's liking. Stabbing the needle through the cloth, England pretended that he couldn't feel the blue eyes looking him up and down suggestively.

"What do you want, frog?" England growled.

"Just to mess wiz your needlepoint, but you 'ave already done zat on your own."

Throwing down his material, England jumped to his feet. "You can make your own bloody tapestry!"

As his enemy moved past him, France roughly grabbed his arm and threw him against the wall.

"Let go of me," England growled.

"Non, I don't zink I will. I don't 'ave to listen to a word you say anymore."

England glared at him. "Then why should I listen to you?"

France smirked and cupped England's chin. "Because I want to make sure everyone knows zat I 'ave conquered you completely and entirely, mon amour."

Before England could reply, France crashed captured his lips to silence his words for the rest of the evening.


	43. Claw Marks

Word Count: 469

Pairings: AmeBel

Warnings: references

* * *

Claw Marks

He hadn't thought things through when he agreed to go join the soccer game—football as everyone else corrects him—that Spain had gathered the nations for. With minor coaxing from his lover, he agreed and the two set out to meet their friends.

It was during a time out that he did it, the heat was unbearable and the game had gotten intense, so America pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the bench.

"Alfred, what did you do to your back?!" England shouted, turning his brother to examine the bright red lines staining the American's back.

"Huh?"

"You have scratches all over your back!"

"It was the cat!" America quickly shouted, his eyes wide and cheeks quickly reddening as he made a dive for his shirt.

"Ohonhonhon, a cat named Belarus per'aps?" France asked with a knowing smirk.

"What? No!"

Upon hearing the name of his little sister, Russia's aura darkened and he looked to her questioningly. Meeting her lover's eyes, the Belarusian tried unsuccessfully to sink into the bleachers.

"Kesesese, so the rumors are true?" Prussia asked grinning.

"Sestra, why didn't you tell me?" Ukraine demanded.

"Ve~, Germany, I told you they would be a lovely couple!"

"Be quiet, Italy."

As the game was unofficially ended by the new-found gossip, America slipped away. He was quickly followed by Belarus who wasted no time in punching his arm when he got close enough.

"Idiot! Now everyone's going to know what we're doing!" she shrieked.

"Is that really a bad thing?"

His words earned him another smack.

"Ow, doll, that hurts!"

"You're lucky I don't stab you, American idiot!"

She turned away from him and crossed her arms. Moving closer, America stepped up behind her and slipped arms around her waist.

"I love you…"

"Shut up!" she snapped, blushing slightly. "I love you too."

"Ready to leave? They'll be gossiping all night and I'd rather not be around for that."

"It's your fault."

"My fault?! You're the one who made all the marks on me!"

"Well you should have left your shirt on!"

"It's hot!"

"I don't care! If you'd left your shirt on nobody would have seen anything!"

America smirked. "So you don't want anyone seeing me shirtless?"

Belarus turned away as he chuckled.

"You're mine," she muttered.

"All yours, doll," he chuckled. "Wanna get out of here?"

She turned, her eyes narrowed. "Everyone will ask questions."

"They've already got questions." America shrugged. "And your brother's totally going to kill me if we hang around."

Fighting a smile she leaned up to kiss him. "Then let's go home. I prefer you alive."

"Yeah everyone knows that now."

As she turned to yell at him, he quickly leaned down to capture her lips.

"Home," she demanded, pulling back to breathe. "Now."

"As you wish, doll."


End file.
